


グランドフィナーレ

by Eromancery



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-16
Updated: 2018-11-16
Packaged: 2019-08-24 07:55:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,962
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16635929
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Eromancery/pseuds/Eromancery
Summary: The Damara who was in the ghost army, what was her deal, anyway?





	グランドフィナーレ

Your name is Damara Megido. Or, at least, you’re A Damara Megido. You’re not quite sure how many of you are running around. You’re the only Damara Megido here, anyway. Wherever “here” is. That’s one of the problems of being dead. It’s all just a mess of other people’s memories, and some people’s memories suck. Yours, for instance. But even your most boring memories were more interesting than this empty plane.

You’re here with an army to kill a demon.

You can feel the stares of the others as you march, wondering why you’re here. You wish you could talk to them, explain that you’re not their Megido, that you may have fucked up, but not in the ways that they remember, but they wouldn’t understand you. You’re not sure they’d want to.

There are Rufiohs in the crowd, but you doubt any of them would want to talk. Besides, finding the Rufioh you knew, the one who’d actually know who you were, would take too long. Better to just keep walking, to just keep following the Nitram in the funny outfit.  
It’s funny, that after all you’ve been through, you’re probably going to end up sacrificing yourself for a Nitram.

One of your robotic dancestors passes you, and begins talking to a Zahhak in a maid outfit. You wonder what the story there is. You wish you had the time to learn their names. But time has always been cruel to you. You suppose that’s why you joined this army. To avenge yourself, yourselves, for all the things that time has done to you.

You can see him now, standing in the distance. Waiting. You eject your music box from your sylladex and force the key forward.  
You never were very good at waiting.

Showtime.

 

The Demon lets loose a massive beam of energy from his fanged mouth, which you deflect with a blast from your wands. The laser careens to the side and vaporizes a Horuss operating a massive, musclebeast-shaped cannon. You allow yourself a moment of satisfaction at his fate before you rewind.

This time, you dodge, the beam sailing past you into the distance. The demon roars, aware of and enraged by your temporal shenanigans. He begins to charge up another laser, but a shell from the musclebeast cannon slams into him, dispersing whatever temporal majykks the demon had gathered.

The shell is followed up by a massive blast by a group of mind-honeyed Captors. The Demon stumbles back, green carapace steaming. He turns, and before you can blink, the amassed goldbloods are reduced to a pile of ash. You consider rewinding to save them, but you aren’t sure what you can even do. Instead, you jump forward again.

The Demon lashes out with his hideously muscled leg, his clawed foot barely missing the head of the Pyrope it was aimed at. You watch as she dodges the flurry of fists he launches as a follow up, moving in such a way that each missed blow leaves The Demon a little more off balance, until a Latula comes up from behind, flips off her board and lands a blow to the back of The Demon’s head. Already destabilized, The Demon falls.

All is silent. Everyone stares, trying to comprehend just how rad that was. Somewhere, Bilious slick sheds a single tear. 

The moment is ruined when a Zahhak in a maid outfit jumps on to The Demon and puts him into a headlock. It’s… really disconcerting. There’s sweat, and weird candy red blood everywhere and WOW that outfit is really revealing. You doubt that any maid worth their salt would wear that. You wouldn’t even wear that, and that’s really saying something. You can’t deal with this right now. You’re going to go do something to take your mind off of this. You rewind your music box, and you’re off.

 

The battlefield looks the same, minus all the ghosts and ghost-dust everywhere. Your mind briefly wanders to the fact that you probably inhaled a vaporized soul or two over the course of that battle. The thought does not help calm you down, so you discard it. And then you realize that you’re not actually alone.

A Kurloz is here.

You stare at him for a minute, uncomprehending. What the hell is he doing here, in this corner of the afterlife? There’s nothing here worth caring about, unless he likes sand, sand and more sand. He stares at you. It’s really creepy, actually. How have you never noticed how creepy this guy was before? Ignoring the fact that he chewed his own tongue off, what sort of creep dresses like a skeleton? Considering when you just were, skulls do not give you the best feeling right now. Then his eyes flash purple and you can hear his voice.

“It’s motherfucking beautiful, ain’t it?” He gestures to the furthest ring outside. “All that emptiness, obscuring all those beautiful secrets in shadows.”

You have no clue what the fuck this joker is going on about.

“I always respected you, because of all your secrets. Where you went and fucked off to when the heiress pushed you too far, why you came back and started fucking all that shit up like you were The Witch instead of just a witch, shit was bitchin’. And shit, sister, let me tell you that when I heard that some of you were interested in serving the wicked lord himself? Shit was miraculous enough to turn a heretic into a preacher.”  
His tone turns sour.  
”But then you had to fuck up the whole deal.”

You flinch backwards. You’ve never seen Kurloz this pissed off before. You’ve definitely never seen him this pissed off and quoting scripture.

“What the fuck are you talking about, you clown bastard?” You stutter, but your accent comes off so thick you’re sure he won’t be able to make out a single word you say.

“What am I talking about? I ain’t talking shit, bitch. I’m preaching, and I’m preaching ‘bout your dumbass fucking decision to go and fight the wicked motherfucking Lord English himself. I am preaching you these truths out of the kindness of my pumpbiscuit, so listen well, bitch. He can not be killed. He can not be beaten. He is the almighty Bang! Pow! Boom! that reduces all souls to naught but ash and fucking fairydust. If you’re so eager to entice the mighty death pop, I’d be willing to chop your fucking nugget off right now, if it would actually kill you.”  
He stares at you like this is actually a deal you’re supposed to consider.

“That’s where you’re wrong,” you say. “I haven’t been alive for a long, long, time.”

You flip him off with one hand, and force the key on your music box with the other.

 

You arrive just in time to see yourself leave, which is mildly disconcerting to say the least. Luckily for your sanity, apparently The Demon escaped the headlock right after you left. It begins to dawn on you that everything you just did may have been a colossal waste of time, especially when you could have been busy wasting the colossal Waste of Time in front of you. So you begin doing just that, throwing yourself directly into the fray.

What a marvelous whirlwind of violence you are! What a daring dream, combining the finest East Beforan martial arts with the violence and brutality of time majykks. How you wish others could know this world. To hear the screams of the double dead, echoing through the eternal night. A constant howl that threatens to deny you slumber for as long as you continue to live, no matter how much sopor you use to dull your mind’s eye. A mysterious, reptilian tongue slips from the demon’s mouth. Is he saying something? Taunting you? Begging for mercy?

The answer doesn’t matter. Words slough from your busy mind like a useless dead membrane as a more visceral sapience takes over. Something simpler is in charge now, a force untouched by the concerns and burdens of the living, that farcical yoke the beating heart. It now drives you through combat, your wands blasting at the carapace, unearthing with each laser bright blood demanding investigation. But not for long, as you and your comrades must claim the battle. You send your meaty fist jaw-ward

You shatter all of the bones in your hand and don’t even care.

 

And then the adrenaline rush ends. You look around, noticing both that the army seems to have shrunk, and the amount of dust seems to have grown. You’re worried that these two statistics might be related. Also, holy FUCK does your hand hurt. Why did you do that? You want to go back in time and slap past you, except you can’t wind your music box with only one working hand and also slapping someone in the face with a broken hand sounds like the worst idea.

On the bright side, the god-tier Serket girl seems to still be alive. Or, dead, but not double dead? Meenah is doing alright too, so you’re back to the bad news, you guess. 

 

“YOU FIGHT WELL, BITCH,” The Demon’s voice is a guttural growl, and yet oddly high-pitched. “NOT BAD FOR A PALTRY MAID.”

“I’m not a maid,” You spit. “I’m a witch.”

“SPEAK UP, GIRL! I CAN HARDLY UNDERSTAND YOUR DEGENERATE VOICE. YOU MAY THINK YOURSELF A WITCH, AND YET YOU WILL END UP SERVING ME. YOU ALREADY HAVE. NOW STOP SCURRYING AROUND AND DIE.”  
The Demon’s mouth opens wide, a blast already charging up. You see an opportunity, and toss your now-useless music box into his mouth. 

The resulting explosion seems to last forever. You’re not sure how much of that is due to shock and how much is due to temporal shenanigans. Either way, it sucks. You try to take a step, and your leg screams in pain. You get the feeling you aren’t going to get out of this alive. Or, dead? This fucking confusing nomenclature won’t even let you have the dramatic revelation that you’re going to perish in this battle. What a drag.

You gather the last bits of your strength and launch yourself at the demon’s prone body. You land on his chest, straddling him.

“あなたが私のふくらはぎを吸うことによってそれをよく使うようにしないなら、私はあなたのためにそれを閉める前にあなたのクソな口を閉める、あなたは処女,” you spit. You raise your wand with your good hand, and shove it down the demon’s throat. There’s a snapping sound, and another bright flash. When you can see again, you notice that your arm is missing, and that the demon’s teeth are stained burgundy. What’s left of his teeth are, anyway. Whatever your wand did to him appears to have busted him up good.

You topple to the ground, woozy from blood loss. Out of the corner of your eye, you can see the Serket girl walking towards the Demon, who appears to have lost interest in you. The world is in grayscale now, more of your blood pooling around you than inside you were it belongs. Can ghosts die from blood loss? As far as you know, only the demon’s lasers are capable of double-killing the dead. Whatever the case may be, you find yourself caring less and less, until your eyes force themselves closed. This battle will have to finish itself without you.

 

Your name is Damara Megido, and you are no one’s slave.


End file.
